


Things To Do In Denver

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 13:54:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11336868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Scully and Mulder go to a craft fair.





	Things To Do In Denver

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Things To Do In Denver by mocomab

Title: Things To Do In Denver (1/1)  
Author: mocomab   
Date: June 1999  
Rating: NC17 for smutty sex between men. Well, honestly, there's no REAL sex, just groping and talk.  
Feedback:   
Archive: Anywhere, but please let me know   
Pairing: M/K  
Spoilers: Everything. Vaguely.   
Summary: Scully and Mulder go to a craft fair.  
Disclaimers: Characters aren't mine. They make me no money, and I returned them undamaged. This time.  
Author's Note: This is dedicated to Alex Woods, 'cause he likes it when the boys come to Colorado.  
Beta thanks and chocolate-covered ratboys to quercus. Remaining errors belong entirely to me.

* * *

Things To Do In Denver  
by mocomab

"Tell me again why we're here, Scully," said Fox Mulder, looking around at the colorful booths of *stuff* filling the park between Denver's state capitol and its City and County building. The sky was a painful blue, bright and hot, with no hint of a breeze. 

"We're here to buy Christmas presents, Mulder," she replied, as if stating the obvious.

"It's June, Scully. *Early* June," he pointed out, trailing behind her like a reluctant hound.

"So?"

"You really Christmas shop in June?"

"When I can. Look, Mulder. Here's my chance to buy my family gifts they'll never likely see anywhere else. I mean, how many of them will ever be at a summer craft fair in Denver?"

"Spring, Scully. It's still spring."

"Whatever! If you're that bored, you can go back to the hotel and get started on our report." He grimaced. "Or get a beer and go listen to a band." He grimaced again. "There're five stages, Mulder! Surely you can find something to your taste."

"Oh, yeah. Local garage bands playing bad metal, polka bands, karaoke rap, bluegrass--"

"I like bluegrass, Mulder."

"And new age Chilean flutists."

"*I* thought they were good." She was getting miffed.

"*You* just got off on the rainstick," he said as they passed the eighth pottery booth. This one featured dishes and whatnots in shades of glossy pink. "I think you ought to get this for Bill," he said, picking up a pink tortilla warmer.

"Put that down, Mulder."

"But think how useful it'll be."

"Mulder," warning tone.

"Or how about this?" He abandoned that booth and raced to the next one in line, grabbing a doggy visor in a bright red pepper print. "He's got a dog, doesn't he? I'd lay odds that Bill is a dog person."

"Must I remind you that I'm armed, Mulder, and I will shoot you." She glared at him. "I've done it before," she added unnecessarily.

He gave an exaggerated sigh. "I don't know why we couldn't go do something fun."

"This is fun, Mulder. I *like* to shop. *I* like craft fairs. I like to watch people," she gestured to the varietal crowd streaming past. "It's a beautiful day. Our case is solved, and we don't fly out until tomorrow. Enjoy yourself, Mulder."

He not quite pouted. "I wanted to go see a ball game."

"I'm sorry the Rockies are in Houston. I'm sure it's all a horrible conspiracy to make your life miserable, Mulder. Why don't you go investigate it?"

"Who'll carry your packages?"

"Go play, Mulder. Get your face painted. Have your fortune told. Eat a tamale. Go find the political booths and harass the Young Republicans."

"You'll miss me, Scully."

"Bet me."

"All right, all right. I *can* take a hint." Scully just looked at him, eyebrows slightly raised, until defeated, he turned and walked away from her. He turned back once, but she'd made good her escape and was nowhere to be seen.

Mulder sighed, a real one this time, feeling bereft. Intellectually, he didn't blame Scully at all. He knew he was being a pain in the ass. But still...Now he had no one to play with.

He decided to take her advice and get a beer, narrowly missing a confrontation between a group of Hare Krishnas and a man dragging a large wooden cross while he announced that abortions and homosexuals were bringing about the end of the world. Odd, Mulder mused, considering that homosexuals rarely had abortions.

He felt a little better with a large plastic cup of Killian's Red in his hand. And the stage he stood by contained a not-bad jazz combo with a lead singer who did a dead-on Janice Joplin. Maybe Scully was right. He would enjoy himself.

The musical set ended, so he wandered off, bored again. Maybe he could find *her* an early Christmas present, just to be obnoxious. He came upon a booth filled with ceramic frogs. Well, heads and limbs were ceramic, but their bodies were soft, and each frog wore a different costume. There was a gardening frog, an Easter frog, even a fairy godfrog, complete with wand. He zeroed in on a biker frog, dressed in black leather. The smirk on its lime-green face was...familiar, as were the matching green eyes.

He approached the proprietess who was sitting under an umbrella hand stitching, he assumed, little frog togs. "Excuse me, but do you have anything other than frogs?"

"Not yet," she smiled at him, "What did you have in mind."

"This," he gestured with the biker frog, "in a rat."

She frowned at the frog in his hand, pursing her lips. "I can see doin' a rat. Rat's are cool. When didja want it?"

"Uh, this is just an impulse thing," he stammered, oddly embarrassed. "I'll take the frog. It's okay." 

"But rats are a good idea. Here," she said wrapping up the frog and placing it in a bag. "I'll include my card. If you decide you want a rat after all, just e-mail me. Maybe by then I'll have a whole line of rats to choose from."

Frog in hand, Mulder went wandering again. He debated on a second beer, Denver's dry heat making him drink faster than usual. He knew he should take it easy on the alcohol since he was used to neither drinking nor the altitude. On the other hand, he wasn't driving, he was off duty and he was bored. Really bored. Decision reached, he made his way to the beer booth with the shortest line, failing to notice the tall, dark-haired man following him.

Mulder was pursued from the concession stand to the tree he chose to lean against while he sipped the beer and watched the parade of humanity cruising past. He watched with faint interest as a troupe of jugglers clad in Renaissance clothing began their complex maneuvers, oblivious to any danger. The gun in his back came as a total surprise.

"Hello, Fox," came a low, intimate voice.

"Krycek," Mulder snarled back. "I should have known a fine spring day in the park was too good to be true. What the hell are you doing in Denver?"

He felt the gun moving slowly up and down his back in an annoyingly sensual caress. There was no feel of cold steel through his thin t-shirt, making Mulder think of it holstered against Krycek's warm skin, a warmth he knew quite well.

The man annoyed him immensely. He showed up out of nowhere wreaking havoc, on Mulder's emotions if nothing else. Then he'd be gone, leaving Mulder with the sick feeling that yet again he'd missed the opportunity to rid the world of a monstrous wrong and vowing that next time he'd not be seduced by a pair of wide-spaced green eyes and a muscular round ass. And then he'd hear that voice.

"What's in the bag?"

"Nothing that concerns you, asshole," Mulder replied, feeling himself blush.

He felt the gun pressing into the small of his back again. "Give me the bag, Mulder."

"Or what? You'll shoot me? Here? There're cops all over the place."

The pressure at his back eased, and he heard Krycek whisper, "You know better than to dare me," right before he felt a sharp pain between his shoulder blades.

"Ouch!" cried Mulder, dropping his beer and reaching back to feel the wound. Nothing. "What the hell?" He whirled towards where he thought Krycek was just as the triple agent snatched the bag out of his hands, dancing away. "You bastard! What'd you shoot me with?"

"My gun," Alex grinned, *reloading* the wooden pistol-shaped toy with one of the rubber bands encircling the wrist of his prosthesis. He evaded Mulder's lunge and shot the agent in the chest.

"Dammit! That hurts!" Mulder abandoned his attempt to grab the *gun* and went for a tackle instead, sending them both sprawling through a group of teenage goths. He threw off some generic apologies while trying to wrest the *gun* from his squirming prisoner. Alex tossed the toy at Mulder, distracting him enough to scramble up and away with Mulder's froggy treasure.

Krycek gained adequate distance to avoid Mulder long enough to check out his purchase. "Hey, cool frog, Fox," he said with a pleased smile when Mulder reached him under the shade of a large elm.

"You, you...incorrigible brat!" Mulder stormed.

"Miss me?"

"No." Mulder said, trying hard to keep from grinning. So much for not being seduced. Or for being bored. He leaned against the tree, shoulder *almost* touching Krycek's, feeling the heat radiating off the man's sturdy body. Alex always seemed to be degrees hotter than anyone else.

Alex reached over to plant a kiss on his mouth, causing Mulder to jerk away, appalled. "Jesus, Alex! We're in public!"

"You are *so* repressed, Fox. Loosen up."

"Repressed? Excuse me, but I do have a career to think of. And a partner wandering around here who'll shoot you on sight. Ever think of that?"

"Scully's harmless. She'd want to torture me first, giving you ample time to rescue me."

"As if." Mulder glared at his some-time lover. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I like street fairs."

"You want me to believe you came to Denver just for the People's Fair?"

"Well, not just for," Alex admitted. "I came to break into the Federal Center. Had to replace some old census material. Revisionist history, you know how that goes."

"How do you sleep at night?"

"I sleep the sleep of the just, Mulder. Unlike you."

"Well, someone has to pay for your sins."

"Fox! You do care!" Alex grinned delightedly. He pushed off from the tree, "C'mon, let's go get our faces painted. And you can buy us some beer. I'll get the turkey legs."

"You'd eat something from one of these booths?" Incredulously following.

"Of course, the turkey legs are good." Alex looked sheepish. "I had one right before I spotted you."

Mulder put out a hand to stop him. "Let me get this straight. You were *here* just to be here? You aren't here stalking me?"

"Mulder, I've never *stalked* you," hurt voice. Alex began walking again. "I've trailed you," he said to the air, "and, on occasion, surveilled you. But I've never stalked you." This last was shouted over his shoulder.

Mulder watched him walk away, then scurried after, wondering how in the hell he'd gotten put on the defensive. "All right, all right," he said, catching up. "I'll buy the damned beer."

Alex wasn't being mollified. "I do have a life, you know," he said softly. "I exist even when I'm not in your line of sight."

"I know that."

"Yeah, but you don't believe it. I don't think you consider me to be fully human. I'm just some pretty thug you get off on beating. Or fucking."

They reached the back of the line at the Press Club beer booth. "That's not entirely fair," Mulder said, voice echoing Krycek's softness, "since in most of our encounters, I was the fuckee."

Krycek snorted as the woman in line ahead of them turned to stare, reddening Mulder's face. "You make my point. You not only get off on beating me, but then you make me do all the work."

"Shut up!" Mulder hissed, punching him. The woman turned around again and looked Mulder up and down. Alex gave her a beatific smile. Mulder ground his teeth and refused to speak until he had the beer in hand, and they made their way to the next line for the food.

"You make me nuts," he said while watching Alex wrestle the turkey legs. His stiff prosthetic hand was just barely functional.

"Now *that's* not fair. You were crazy long before you met me." He pointed to a clear shady spot with his chin.

Mulder led the way to the designated oasis, beating out a tattooed stoner and his purple-haired girlfriend. They settled on the cool grass, shuffling food and brew. 

Even one-armed and off-balance, Alex Krycek was the most graceful thing Mulder had ever seen. His breath caught when Alex crossed his ankles and sank slowly down to the grass, worn jeans tightening over his muscular thighs. There was nothing overtly sexual or seductive about the movement, but the muscular control of the slow descent sent Mulder's heart racing. If Krycek rose in the same manner, Mulder knew that his half-soft cock would blossom.

Krycek didn't look at him, still keeping his hurt silence. Mulder searched for and dismissed a dozen or more overtures, not wanting to sound either pitiful or needy. He finally settled on a simple "I'm sorry."

"Why?" Alex sipped his beer, watching a pair of skinny blonds walk past holding hands. They both had large Celtic Crosses tattooed on their narrow shirtless chests and wore long dreadlocks.

"I misjudged you."

Alex looked at him, seeming vaguely interested but saying nothing.

"I mean, I never thought that my opinion of you mattered. You just seem to get off on fucking with my mind."

That got him a small smile. "You fuck with your own mind. It's called mental masturbation, Mulder, and you're a master at it. *I* just fuck with your body."

Mulder snorted. "Well, it just never occurred to me...I never considered..." His voice trailed off. He hadn't meant to head in this direction.

"Yes?" not letting him off the hook.

"I never thought," quiet voice, and now he watched the crowd. "...that you might..." almost a whisper, "love me, too." 

Silence. After what seemed like half a year he dared to look. Alex was staring, his face uncharacteristically open. He looked very young. "Too?" he asked Mulder.

Mulder could lose himself forever in the dark depths of those green eyes. "I hate it, you know," he heard himself say, "loving you. When you're gone, I miss you so much, and I hate it. I hate you. I hate being ashamed; afraid if someone finds out, they'll think I'm insane. I can't imagine having to explain you. I want someone to kill you, so I don't feel this way, and I'm so afraid someone will. I hate that you show up..." he groped for words, "*whenever*...and regardless of what you've done, or who you've done it to, I know that I'll end up with your cock down my throat or up my ass. I hate that I'm helpless against you. I want you so much." The green gaze was painful now, making him bleed. "I always have."

Alex took a big bite of turkey and chewed it slowly, staring at Mulder. He didn't smile or even smirk, and Mulder felt that he'd just given away the farm. He continued, unable to bear the silence. 

"I strike out at you, beat you, because it's the only way I can touch you without losing myself. No one questions my anger. It doesn't need explanation. How could I ever explain loving you?"

Alex swallowed, then gulped beer convulsively. He put down the cup, almost empty, and wiped the foam off his lip with the back of his hand. "Fuck you, Mulder," he said, voice low with rage. "I *let* you beat me. You think you're a match for *me*, even one-handed? You're not only not in my league, you're not even in the *game*." He polished off the beer. "Christ! We're idiots. I let you beat me, because anger and lust are the only things I thought I could ever have." He shook his head and laughed, once, anger gone. "What a pair."

Holy shit, Mulder thought. What did we just do? He watched Alex watching him while gnawing on his turkey leg. "Eat up, Mulder," said his green-eyed nemesis, "I want to get my face painted."

Mulder blinked, absurdly grateful that the revelations were over. "What the hell are you going to get painted on your face? Benedict Arnold?"

Alex grinned. "A unicorn. You're getting Pegasus." He reached over and snagged Mulder's beer. "You're one up on me," he said by way of explanation.

Mulder glared and took a last bite of his turkey leg. "That's a little Freudian, don't you think?"

"So?"

"So," Mulder rose to his feet, "there's no way anyone is going to paint a winged horse on my face."

Krycek stood also, and the movement was just as delicious as Mulder had thought it would be. "Can I have my gun back?"

"No. Why do you want it." He reached back to check on the toy gun he'd stuck in the back of his jeans.

"So I can force you to get a wing-ed horse to complement my horn-ed one." Krycek started walking toward a large cardboard trash container, dodging two mimes to deposit his beer cups and turkey bone.

"Your horn-ed horse?" Mulder followed him and dumped his own trash.

"Horn-ed. Now, give me my gun." 

"No. You can't be trusted."

"Pulease, Fox. I'll be good." His eyes were open wide, and Mulder once again felt himself falling into their depths. "Real good." The husky, purring voice sent shards of lust straight into Mulder's groin, narrowing his perception "I'll give you your frog back." 

They were standing close enough to feel each other's heat, and taste the beer they'd just consumed. Alex stepped even closer, paralyzing Mulder. He reached his arm around the stunned agent and gently removed the toy gun. Their denim covered groins met for a brief, intense moment, making them both buck slightly. Mulder groaned.

He almost followed when Alex stepped back, missing the contact, needing that electric heat. That need filled his mind so much that he didn't register Krycek's intent until the son of a bitch had reloaded the gun and shot him in the upper thigh, barely missing his raging erection.

"Bastard!" Mulder roared, unfrozen at last. Spell broken, he took out after the fleeing thug who now had both the gun and the frog.

Mulder chased him through the crowd, losing sight of him once when he was blocked by a stroller of triplets and a Rotweiller. He caught a glimpse of the slippery imp tearing around a tipi in the Heritage Village then again slipping under the blues stage. Mulder caught up to him in front of a face-painting booth.

"This one," Alex was telling the two women running the booth, pointing at a glittery Pegasus, "for him. And that," pointing with the gun, "for me."

"No," Fox panted.

"Ignore him," Alex told them. 

"No!" Emphatic.

"Why not?" Disingenuous, truly wanting to know. Mulder swore an oath to make him scream, as soon as they were alone.

"Because," hissing, "we'd look like a couple of queers."

Alex stared at him for a long beat, turned to look at the two artists, then back at Mulder. "Fox," he said very quietly, as if soothing an excited imbecile, "we are a couple of queers."

"Give me back my frog," was all he said, before settling in the victim's chair.

In the end, they compromised. Mulder suffered the glittered wing-ed horse to cover his left cheek. But riding on the beast's back was a light-green, glow-in-the-dark alien, with a small saucer hovering at its back, partially covering Mulder's nose. Riding on Krycek's unicorn was a deathshead skeleton, complete with scythe.

Much to Mulder's embarrassment, Alex spent the entire ordeal flirting with the women, making them laugh and teasing sips of whiskey from a bottle hidden behind the paint. He went so far as to trade recipes for--of all things--green chili.

"Now you look like a couple of deranged queers," commented the artist finishing up Krycek, sprinkling silver glitter on the blade of death's scythe.

Alex kissed both of them and dropped a fifty in their tip jar. Mulder opened his mouth to protest the excess, then closed it, figuring there were much more harmful ways Krycek could choose to spend his ill-gotten gains.

They bought another round of beers from a vendor carrying a soft-sided keg on his back and stopped back by the blues stage to listen to a large black woman sing about her silver beaver then go on to another song, wailing how hard it was to find one good man. 

"Want to check out the tipi?" Alex asked as they walked back around the Heritage Village. 

"Why the hell would I want to do that?" Really, Alex was way too much into this scene.

"Because, Foooxxx," Alex drawled out the name while batting his eyes, "it might be empty."

"Huh? Oh. Oh!" Mulder followed him, almost stepping on his heels. They ducked through the flap of the realistically replicated Arapaho dwelling. It was blessedly empty. Mulder hadn't even straightened fully before Alex grabbed him, pulling him into a rough embrace and kissing him. Alex kissed like it had been months, which it had. Hungry and hot, biting Mulder's lip hard enough to hurt, then gently licking the hurt away.

Alex put a leg in between Mulder's, giving him a firm thigh to grind against. Good, but not enough. Mulder's hands found Krycek's ass and pulled it forward. Groin against groin in a hard sweet battle that ended in a draw when they came, swallowing each other's groans.

Mulder saw stars for a moment, while he stood and enjoyed the taste of Krycek's panting breath. He stifled a protest when Alex suddenly pulled out of his embrace and began a babbling lecture on the efficacy of American aboriginal housing.

"--it's said they could have one of these babies dismantled and on the road in ten minutes flat," he was saying in a rather hysterical tone just as the flap pushed inward and two pre-teens dashed in followed by a red-faced, beer-gutted dad. "The decorations on the outside are actually a log of their travels. Come on, let's see where they've been." Alex escaped behind the puffing dad, exiting the tent without waiting for Fox.

Who couldn't move. He was still twitching slightly from the orgasm and couldn't seem to will his feet into obedience. By the time he, too, escaped the tipi, Alex was no longer in sight.

Irritated, he rounded the tipi, thinking the man was in dire need of a beating, regardless of the soul-searching they'd done over turkey and beer.

"Mulder! You have a flying horse on your face."

"Scully," Mulder squeaked, almost stepping on his diminutive partner.

"And what the hell is riding it?" His eyes searched frantically for Alex, thanking whatever gods were listening that the two hadn't run into each other.

"Like it?" he asked, trying to check himself out for wet spots, grateful that he'd put on the more absorbent jockeys this morning rather than the silky boxers. 

"Well, it's definitely you." She looked up at him critically, and he felt himself blush. Again. "I'm glad I ran into you. I'm going back to the hotel. My sunscreen's worn off and I want to go eat something healthy before I succumb to a waffle cone and steak-on-a-stick."

"Need company?" he asked automatically before thinking.

"No, thanks. You look like you're having fun." She left him there wondering exactly what she'd meant by that and if he smelled like sex.

"Wow, that was close, wasn't it?" Mulder jumped, yelped and stared at Alex Krycek, who appeared suddenly beside him.

"How the hell do you do that! And where have you been?"

"Hiding in plain sight." He was trying to look modest, but the smirk got in the way. "It's a gift."

"God, Alex! She almost caught us."

"So what if she did? What's she gonna do, *tell*?" He pulled Mulder off in the direction of the blues stage.

"This is serious, Alex!" He pulled away and stopped. "She'd shoot you dead. I believe that. And then she'd make me lie on the report."

Alex patted his arm before tugging him forward again. "Well, look at it this way: At least then you'd know where I was buried."

"God, Alex." A groan. "What'll I do if she finds out about us?"

"You really don't think she knows?" Horrified look from Mulder. "She knows something. I mean, you should see yourself. Hair mussed, mouth swollen, crotch damp. Would you rather have her think you've been dallying with your dearest enemy or that you're just a slut who picked up a stranger in a tipi?"

"God, Alex."

"You're getting repetitive. Look," exasperated. "Scully is many things, Mulder. Cold and rigid come quickly to mind. But," he cut off Mulder's protest, "one thing she is not, is stupid. And as deep as her hatred of me goes, it's nothing compared to the depth of her love--and loyalty--to you. She'd be an ally if you'd let her."

"You really think so?"

They'd reached a shady spot near the stage. "Oh yeah," Alex said beginning the cross-ankle descent that sent Mulder's IQ plummeting as all his blood moved south. "As soon as she finished slapping the shit out of you."

"God, Alex," moaned Mulder, dropping to his knees and lowering his head to the ground.

***

Dana Scully leaned against the tree she'd been standing behind, slightly to the right of the blues stage. Damn him, she thought. Damn them both. The forgotten cell phone in her hand spoke. "Skinner," she heard.

"Sir? It's Scully, sir." She closed her eyes. What to do, what to do? "I'm sorry to bother you, sir. I'm here in Denver with Mulder and," her voice faltered. She moved the phone away and cleared her throat, "and I thought I saw Alex Krycek."

"Krycek!" The name was spat out.

"Yes, sir. Alex Krycek. But sir?" Asking forgiveness. "I must have been mistaken." She rang off, but continued watching as her partner lay his head on the shoulder of the man she hated most in the world.

"God, Mulder," she whispered.

**end** 


End file.
